Didn't predict this
by MissAnime111
Summary: When seven year old Christine Daáe pictured her life, she would have never predicted this. What happens when unruly seven year old, Christine Daáe, enters into the new world of the Opera? And who is this strange Angel of Music? Please R&R
1. New Beginings

**Hey There! Im new to this, so yeah, be gentle. Please review, they're great! xxx**

CHAPTER 1 – New Beginnings

When seven year old Christine Daáe pictured her life, she would have never predicted this. She would never have predicted that her mother would die five days after her sixth birthday, and she never imagined her father would soon follow almost one year later. She never thought that she would end up moving from one place of Europe to the other, from her tiny village in Sweden to noisy, busy Paris; tossed about like so much luggage.

And she never, ever dreamed of spending the rest of her days in a world famous Opera house.

...

Christine stared down onto the photo frame in her small hands. She drew a small finger over the glass, as if trying to trace her deceased father's face in the picture. Single tears ran down her pale cheeks, silent and sorrowful; those painful memories, the night of Gustave Daáe's death still fresh and burning in her mind. She couldn't imagine life without him.

"It will all be fine, Miss Daáe." Madame Giry told the young girl who sat next to her. "As soon as you're settled down, it'll all be fine. Of course, we don't usually offer places at the Opera for girls your age, but it is my home. I will raise you as my own."

Christine didn't say anything. The Opera. It was an offer no one she knew would refuse. It was a once in a life time chance, a dream come true. Most people in the Opera Populáire were professionals, they are musicians and they know it. Sending a small girl into a place like that is like stepping unarmed into a lion's pit. For Christine, the Opera was a replacement, a temporary home for a girl with no mother or father, no future. She, Christine Daáe, an orphan.

Her big brown eyes found their way to the open windows of the small carriage and watched the gray clouds pour down rain for while. It occurred to the small girl that it had seemed to rain ever since her father's death a month ago. It was as if the world was portraying all her hurt and pain and sorrow through the weather. She hummed quietly to herself a tune her father once sang to her. Madame Giry spoke again.

"I trust that you have talent, Miss Daáe. Your father was quite the violinist."

Christine winced at the mention of her father.

All she could do was nod slightly. She hadn't talked properly since that dreadful night.

Madame Giry frowned. "You will have to start speaking soon, Miss Daáe. It is not healthy for a girl your age to be silent."

Christine looked at her hands. Her father used to encourage her to dance, so on occasions she would put on a show for him, showing off the dance moves that she would make up by herself. She enjoyed dancing. She enjoyed music. It was a place were she could escape to, were she could forget everything that didn't matter, a place she felt free. Her father once spoke of an Angel of Music, and told her that once he was in heaven he would send him to her. The very thought of having an angel by her side made her heart flutter.

Christine opened her mouth to speak, but closed it as the small, black carriage turned a corner; revealing a huge, beautiful building on the horizon. It's tall figure cast looming shadows over them, and the small brunette's mouth dropped.

The Opera Populáire.

"Here we are, Miss Daáe." Madame Giry was saying, "Your new home."

**Hmmm, not too sure that I like how this turned out. Oh well, you tell me what you think. SORRY THAT IT'S SO SHORT! Just wanna say, I might not continue this fic. It all depends on the comments and my insperation. Then again, I just might. If i do it wont be too regular... just saying.**

**Anyhoo please review. They make me happy :) xx**


	2. New Encounters

**Hello! Okay, so this is chapter two. Again, SORRY IT'S SO SHORT, CHAPTERS WILL GET LONGER! Please review! PLEASE!**

**Disclaimer: I don't own POTO... 'sniff'**

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><p>Madame Giry took the little girl firmly by the hand, leading her over to the huge wooden doors. The rain beat down hard onto their faces, but Christine felt none of it as she was hauled up the concrete steps, eyes wide and innocent.<p>

She suddenly felt very small.

She could hear the faint plink-plonk of piano keys and the occasional mangled screech from a singer or violin, she wasn't sure. She swallowed hard as she stopped in front of the doors, her lips forming a perfect 'o' shape. A small tug on her wrist brought the small girl back to reality, and Madame Giry led her around the back of the opera house.

Christine was brought to a small door at the back, so much different to the beauty of the great front doors. The middle-aged dancer whispered softly to a bald, rough-looking door keeper, raising his eyebrows as his eyes linger on the small, shivering child. He unlocked the door noisily and ushered the pair inside.

"Thank you, Monsieur." Madame Giry spoke, brushing down her skirt and shawl. Christine pushed her hood from her head, eyes wide. She let her dark curls fall around her shoulders as Madame Giry helped the small girl shrug the large cloak off.

"Who's the child?" The bald man asked, taking the cloak and hanging it on a peg.

"This is Miss Christine Daáe," Giry replied, dragging the child towards another door, "She is to live here, Monsieur."

Before the guy could speak, Madame Giry pushed Christine through the door and closed it behind her swiftly. Christine swallowed hard as she stared up into a aristocratic looking hallway. The tiled floor was so shiny she could just about make out her reflection as Madame Giry hauled the small child up the huge, ivory stairs. They passed through another door, this one grand and expensive, bordered with swirling, golden patterns, and dipping, swishing eagle engravings. Christine's mouth opened wide in silent awe.

Madame Giry led Christine up flights of stairs, passing numerous dormitories and wooden stairways. It seemed that every room they entered was like a different world to the next. At last Christine found herself being hauled into a room full of squealing teenagers, some of them sitting around reading or giggling in posses of about ten. Some were asleep in their bunks, some sitting at dressing tables and one or two sprawled out on the floor. Once they set eyes on Christine they ran over, squeaking with joy, gawking at the small girl.

"Oh, she's so cute." One girl mused, covering her mouth, giggling.

"Just look at the little darling!" Another girl squeaked, bending down to beam at the small brunette.

Christine's brown eyes scanned the dull room, searching for any girls her age. She stared as a small blonde, about her age, ran over, swinging her arms around Madame Giry.

"Bonjour, Mama!" The little girl had long, fair blonde hair, and very blue eyes.

"Bonjour, chère." The middle aged woman smiled and set her daughter down.

The girl gave Christine a questioning look, only just noticing her. "Mama, who's this?"

"This is Christine Daáe, Meg. She's come to live here with us." Madame Giry nudged Christine forward, and Meg boldly held out her hand, grinning.

"Welcome to the Opera populair, Christine!" She chirped happily.

Christine hesitantly took the blonde's hand in hers and shook it slowly.

Meg's smile faded, "What's wrong? Can't you talk?" Madame Giry shot Christine a look of warning.

"Miss Daáe is mourning the death of her father, Meg. She has a lot on her mind right now."

The small blonde's pitying gaze was enough to turn Christine's cheeks bright red. She didn't want pity; she had seen enough sad-eyed looks in the past month to last her a lifetime. Christine just smiled weakly, trying her best to look presentable.

"Oh... Well, I'm sure it'll all be OK. You are gonna love it here anyway," Meg took Christine by the hand, leading her through the set of bunks and picking her way over the older girls that sat or lay on the floorboards. "Come on, Christine. Your bunk is next to mine. We are gonna be the best of friends."

Christine tried for a smile, a small, meek one, sure. But it was a smile all the same.

"Monsieur Lefevre knows you are here, Miss Daáe." Madame Giry spoke from behind them, "You will start ballet classes tomorrow morning. Goodnight ma chère."

**What do ya think, then? A bit boring? Oh well. Things will liven up! Please review or i'll... i'll... i'll stop writing! Okay, that was a pretty lame threat, but... c'mon!**

**xx**


	3. Angel, is that you?

**A/N: Aaaand what did I say about long chapters? Well, you have one now. This is sort of the rest of Christine's childhood at the Opera, so , yeah. Oh, and Christine finaly meets her angel of music! Enjoy :)**

**Disclaimer: I don't own the Phantom of the Opera. There, I said it...**

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><p>Christine's first full day at the Opera Populáire was not the best day of her life. At all.<p>

She was shook awake by Meg telling her that she'd slept in. She had to tip-toe quickly, barefooted against the cold ivory tiles, down to the dinning hall; because she had forgotten her small, fluffy slippers beside her old bed-side table before she left home. She then had to eat her breakfast in her ugly, beige night dress while trying to avoid eye contact from the people nearby giving her funny looks.

Ballet class was worse.

She couldn't keep up with the other dancers. She would trip occasionally, or step on the other girl's feet. Madame Giry would shout and huff until the point where she would have to hold the little girl's back straight and lead her along.

"Chin up and back straight, Miss Daáé. Remember to point your toes" She would instruct, resting a finger under Christine's chin.

Christine face blushed scarlet with embarrassment.

After three hours of enduring hell, lunchtime came. Christine raked a hand through her dark curls and settled into a small, wooden bench by herself beside the window. The rain had cleared, but the clouds were still a worrying mottled gray. She had spent five minutes picking at a rather clumsy made cheese roll when Meg wondered over and sat down on the bench bedside her.

"I was looking for you everywhere, Christine." She exclaimed, blue eyes full of excitement for no apparent reason. "What has your first day been like? Do you like it here? I bet you do! It's the best! I wanna know everything about you! What's your favorite food? Can you play an instrument? What's your favorite colour?"

Christine blinked at the sudden burst of questions. She couldn't understand what the blonde thought was so interesting about a shy, scrawny girl adorned with a head of thick, unruly curls. Not to mention the fact that she hasn't spoken once since she'd arrived at the opera house. She thought Meg would have gotten tired of trying to urge a response from a broken girl, took the hint, and left her be. Obviously not.

Christine shrugged.

"Oh, C'mon. Everyone has a favourite colour!" Meg smiled, "Y'know, the others think your mute or something. But I reckon you're just shy. It's OK, You can speak to me."

Now if Meg had been a mean girl, Christine would have found it much easier to hate her, to narrow her eyes and glare or turn away and tell her to back off. It would seem selfish, sure, but what are you meant to do when you just want the world to stay away and leave you alone? Christine opened her mouth and spoke quietly, "I… kind... of like green…"

"See! I knew you could speak!" Meg clapped her small hands together, pleased with her progress. "Green, huh? Its a nice colour, I guess. Kinda boyish, but that's OK; mine's pink!" She kicked her legs out, showing Christine her pink skirt and matching stockings, as if to prove the point.

Silence settled around the pair and they watched the gray clouds float by slowly outside. Christine wished she could see the birds fly around clear blue skies again, just like when she and her father would go traveling, playing music for a living. She wished she could still hear the swishing of the trees, the squeals and laughs from the gypsy children she would meet. Christine remembered the boy who swam out into a freezing lake to save her scarf. The boy with the sandy colored hair, with eyes as blue as the ocean. She didn't know anyone else who could make her heart flutter like that. She swore that she would never forget that boy.

Christine was about to speak when there was scream behind them, followed by a loud crash. The two children turned their heads, just in time to see the bald door-keeper from the day before, drop from the ceiling, his neck hung tightly from a rope. He was utterly, and completely, dead. The whole dinning hall erupted into screams and shrieks of terror then. People climbed over benches, others trampled over leftover food splattered across the floorboards in order to get out of the door. "It's the phantom of the opera!" Someone shrieked, arms waving around madly.

"That Phantom…" Meg breathed, "He's the opera's very own spook, ghost… whatever."

"But… ghosts don't exist…" Christine spoke more to herself than to Meg.

The blonde looked at her, eyebrows raised. "I wouldn't be so sure, Christine. There have been murders, and people found dead. The phantom… he is real, Christine. Believe me." Christine looked away so Meg couldn't see the look of uncertainty flashing through her brown eyes.

"You're lying…" The brunette murmured.

"Nuh, uh. It's true. No one has ever seen the ghost and lived to tell the tale, but it is said that there is black hole were his nose should be, and half of his face is covered by a mask."

"A Mask? Why?"

"Legend tells," Meg was in full story-telling mode now, "That what is hidden beneath the mask even his own mother couldn't love. No one would look upon that face, and not be filled with anything other but disgust." The blonde grimaced, as if she could imagine such an image. The look on Christine's face urged Meg to carry on with her story.

"He rules this very ground. Y'know, it's a wonder that they don't shut this place down for good."

"How do you know all this?" Christine gasped.

"Mama knows him."

"She does?"

"Kind of... Oh, but I'm not supposed to tell anyone. So keep it shut right?" She looked at Christine, her usual baby blue gaze gone, now replaced by a deep navy. The brunette shrugged her shoulders uncomfortably.

"Anyway, Mama has always said if you feel in any danger at all, you must keep your hand at the level at your eyes."

Christine frowned, "The level of your eyes?"

Before Meg could say anything more madame Giry appeared through the crowd of people, eyes searching. She spotted the children by the window, and her expression hardened.

"Meg Giry, what do you thing you are doing back here? What did I tell you to do if the ghost appears?" She took the girls firmly by their hands, pulling out of the room, pushing past people and yelling at them to quiet down. Once they where out into the hallway, she turned around to look at Meg and Christine.

"I am sorry miss Daáe. This doesn't happen usually. Meg should have known better than to let you two stay in there through all of this."

The small blond crossed her arms, puffing out her bottom lip. "Mama! I am not scared of that ghost!"

Madame Giry ignored her daughter and turned her gaze to Christine.

"Come, Miss Daáe, time to resume your lessons."

…

…Darkness...

"Christine..."

"Uh...?" Christine found herself standing alone in a dark room. There were no windows, or furniture; only a single door."Father? Father, where are you?"

"Christine..."

"Father! Father, I am here! Where are you, Papa?" Christine ran to the door and pulled on the handle. It was locked. "Father!"

"Christine... I am here my child."

Christine rattled the handle harder, pulling on it with all her strength. Silent tears streamed down her cheeks. "Papa..." She cried between sobs.

"I am here. Behind you, Christine." The small girl stopped moving, and turned her head slowly. When she turned she saw a bed, and a figure lay on it.

She ran over, relived to see it was indeed her father. She swung her arms around him, as did he. "Oh, father. I miss you so much."

"I know, my angel. I know." He whispered into her hair, stroking the curls cascaded over her shoulders.

Christine buried her face into his neck, crying softly. "Oh, Father. I feel so alone. What am I to do?"

"Don't feel alone, Child. For I will send you an angel. He will guide you and teach you."

"Teach me what, Father?"

"To sing, my child. The angel of music will show you the music in your soul, Christine." He tapped her chest, "And it is there already. Christine, my dear, music runs through your veins. You will always have it, nor will you ever be without it." Christine stared at the older man, eyes wide, and he stared back down at her, smiling softly.

"Oh, thank you, Father." She embraced him tightly. After while Gustave pulled away, laying his head back onto the pillows and closing his eyes.

"Now, my dear, I have to go. Heaven needs me, my child." He whispered.

"No. I want you to stay here!" Christine hung onto her dad with pleading eyes. "No, I won't be left alone again!"

"But Christine, you will have the angel of music. You can live without me now."

Christine's eyes widened as the man before started to fade away. "No... No, no, no, no, NO!" She couldn't stop the tears from falling as the most important person in her life disappeared before her eyes.

"Don't fear, My child. The angel of music has you under his wing..." The voice felt like a million miles away as Christine sank to the floor and wept, the tears stinging her damp eyes. "No... No... No... No..." She whispered over and over again. The darkness closed in around her and she shut her eyes tightly, feeling consciousness emerge from somewhere deep inside of her...

…

Christine blinked into the blackness, her eyes straining into the dark.

"Father?" She whispered. When she got no reply she swung her head around, realisation dawning on her. She was no longer with her father, he hadn't even been there. It wasn't real. It was just a dream.

Her eyes were getting somewhat used to the dark and she could make out the shapes of other the bunks around her, and she sighed heavily. Sleep hadn't been an easy activity since her father died, and she thought by having a fresh start at this new home would ease the pain; maybe take her mind of everything wrong in her life. It hadn't worked.

Eyeing the photo of her father that she'd placed on the wobbly bed-side table, she swung her legs over the bed, placing her feet onto the wooden floorboards quietly. Picking up the photo, she tip toed across the room, weaving through the other bunks. As she clutched the bronze door handle, the floor beneath her creaked slightly. Wincing, she silently looked round, praying that no one had woken. No one had, and she was grateful for it. Once she was out into the cool of the hallway, she padded down the stairs, the chequered tiles cold against her bare feet. Brown eyes darting, she ran across huge hallway, pulling open the door to the chapel and carefully slipping inside.

Inside, the chapel was small, yet welcoming and it smelt strongly of incense and candle wax. Christine stepped onto the cold tiles which covered the floor, eyeing the colourful stained glass windows which lined the walls. She set the photo frame down in front of the huge painting of Mary and Jesus before carefully lighting a candle and placing it in a holder. She took a deep breath and stood in before it.

Christine stared at the photo, tears falling down her cheeks as she remembered how the man in the picture used to live, used to breathe. It sickened her to know that all she had left of Gustave was this photo; a snapshot, a snippet of a memory, a sliver of a life that had come to an end.

"Why did you leave me, Father?" She cried softly, "You... you lied to me..."

Christine closed her eyes and let the tears fall, softly and soundly. Outrage filled her small body, and she shook with anger.

"You promised!" She shouted, not feeling the slightest bit silly, standing there shouting at a photo, but knowing she should be. "You promised you'd send me the angle of music! But he's not here! It was all a lie, and I believed it! You said he'd come, well, were is he? There is no angel of music... all a lie... it was all a lie..." She broke down, slowly sinking to the floor and letting the tiles soak up her tears. The tears that fell were cold and salty, stinging her eyes as she squeezed them shut. They were tears of self-pity, of hurt and confusion; of betrayal and emptiness.

Her head was cloudy, the air stuffy, and she all she could hear were the sound of her muffled sobs ringing throughout her mind. So loud, that she almost didn't hear the faint murmur from somewhere in the room.

"_Anger, tears and sadness are only for those who have given up..." _

It was sang so softly, so gentle. But it was a voice, a man's voice, and it startled the young brunette so much that the breath caught in her throat, her anger and despair immediately forgotten. Her heart missed a beat, and her eyes grew very wide. "Who's there?" She spoke loudly but shakily, her little-girl voice bouncing off the walls. She tried to ignore the way her heart beat rapidly inside her chest.

"_Why, my angel, I will be whatever you want me to be..."_

She stared at her hands, then up at her father's photo. "Angel..." She couldn't deny the way her voice shook slightly, the way her small hands became clammy with sweat. She turned slowly, expecting some glorious spirit, some beautiful apparition clad entirely in white with wings and a halo standing before her. Her heart faltered when she was met with the dreary eyed gaze from an icon that hung from the wall. She looked down at her hands again, feeling that she had finally gone mad from the loss, when that beautiful voice filled her ears once more.

"_...When a child can be brought to tears, and not from fear of punishment, but from repentance she needs no chastisement..."_

He sang to her, and Christine's heart restarted it's steady drumbeat, her brown eyes searching the room, looking for her possible angel.

"_...When the tears begin to flow from the grief of their conduct you can be sure there is an Angel nestling in their heart."_

A sliver of hope raised from somewhere in the child's soul and she felt a small amount of joy for the first time in months.

"_I __am __your __Angel __of __music... __Sing __for __me, __Angel __of __music._"

Her breathing quickened, and by now she was looking around franticly; hoping, praying for a glimpse of this miracle. She took a shaky deep breath. "Angel... I hear you; speak, I listen. Stay by my side; guide me." She sang softly, and as steadily as she could, though it was difficult as her breathing was becoming rather harsh.

"_Very __good, __my__angel._"

The voice sounded pleased and Christine grinned, but to what she did not know. "Please teach me to sing, Angel." She breathed.

"_Of __course, __but __may __I __learn __your __name __first, __my __dear.__"_

"Christine Daáe."

"_Christine...__" _The voice sounded distant. "_I __am __to __be __your __teacher, __and __you __are __to __be __my __student. __We __begin __lessons __tomorrow... __after __supper.__"_

"But Angel, I want to learn now." She wined, as little girls do.

"_No, __Christine. __Now, __you __must __sleep. __You __need __the __rest.__"_

Christine yawned, staring up at the wall, from which she believed the voice ascended from. "OK." She curled up in a ball, bringing her legs up from underneath her and closing her eyes. "But I want to sleep here. Please sing to me, my angel..."

The voice was quiet for a while, and the child started to wonder if her angel had left her. But when he finally spoke, she relaxed.

"_Very __well, __Christine. __I __will __sing __for __you._

_...Let the notes that fall so sweetly,_

_Charm you in the evening air,_

_Never was so sweet a ballad_

_Sung with passion, love and care._

_Hear the notes rise ever higher,_

_Listen to the music there._

_Here is beauty all around you_

_There is nothing to compare._

_Late at night while you're asleep,_

_The angel comes before you._

_Watching over while you're in bed,_

_And the Angel of Music sings songs in your head…_

So he sang to her, and the small girl was able to relax for the first time in months. She felt like all her problems were behind her, and for a moment she forgot about her fancy, new home; her fathers death, the supposable 'opera ghost'. Her Angel of Music had come to her, just like her father said he would. She felt a sense of peace, and felt as if a dark, empty hole inside of her has somewhat been filled. She felt at home.

It felt good.

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><p><strong>And thats that for now. Please please could somone review this? Please? Thanks eva so. Have a nice day :)<strong>


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